While le Fèvre’s account of Henry’s speech has a ring of truth, and has a claim to authenticity, it is difficult to know what to make of the speeches attributed to him by the other French writers. For example, Juvénal des Ursins’ version of Henry’s speech has him outlining his claim to the throne of France and that it had fallen to him to make good that claim by conquest.
He had not come as a mortal enemy, for he had not consented to burning, ravaging, violating nor raping girls and women, as they [the French] had done at Soissons; but he wished to conquer gently all that belonged to him, not to cause any destruction at all.117
Quite how one could ‘conquer gently’ is an interesting question; but more importantly the reference to the attack on Soissons in 1414 – when a victorious French army had killed large numbers of Burgundians and raped many women, including nuns – shows that des Ursins’ main reason for making this point was a moral one, and not simply a historical reflection. It was part of the tide of French accusations and blame that immediately followed the battle. He went on to stress how Henry ordered his men to lay aside their personal animosities and embrace each other (implying that the French themselves should have done this), and promised his men the full value of any prisoners they took. He even went so far as to claim that Henry promised that all those fighting there that day would henceforth enjoy the same privileges as noblemen.
The fact is that most of the Englishmen present would not have heard the king’s speeches – only those near enough, as he rode up and down the lines. But the importance of Henry’s speech-making was not so much that he was heard by his men as that he was seen by them. Just to know he was there was an inspiration to many. His appearance was noted by most of the chroniclers; one described him as
clad in safe and very bright armour: he wore on his head a splendid helmet, with a large crest, and encompassed with a crown of gold and jewels; and on his body a surcoat with the arms of England and France; from which a celestial splendour gleamed on the one side from three golden flowers planted in an azure field; on the other from three golden leopards sporting in a ruby field. Sitting on a noble horse as white as snow, having also horses in waiting royally decorated with the richest trappings, his army were much inspired to martial deeds.118
The king’s appearance was thus of importance to both sides. For the English it was important to know he was sharing their danger, and in control of the army. For the French, the dazzling spectacle of him in his surcoat, armour and crowned helmet was the bait that would draw them charging down the corridor of stakes and archers.
*
Henry was impatient, waiting for the French to attack. They had made no move for an hour at least. A small number of men-at-arms had ridden out from the French lines and had approached the English army at a gallop, but these had been warned off with a volley of arrows, at Henry’s order.119 Now more riders were approaching – heralds.
The English army were jittery. The time for negotiation had passed. Still, if negotiators were seen to be pursuing a dialogue, Henry had to be seen to listen to them.
The chroniclers, writing about these negotiations at a later date, concealed the terms under layers of post-battle propaganda. Some French writers claimed that Henry had previously sent his heralds to the French army asking for safe passage to Calais, offering to cede Harfleur and the castles below Calais, to restore the prisoners he had taken, and to pay 100,000 crowns in recompense. Obviously none of the English writers mention such a shameful request.120
Negotiations of some description did take place, however. It appears most likely that the French sent negotiators to Henry.121 They may have offered him safe passage to Calais in return for significant concessions – including his renunciation of the throne of France.122 But the French were not serious; they were playing for time. Among the negotiators were Guichard Dauphin and Jacques de Heilly.123 When their terms had been formally presented to the English council, and dismissed, the heralds were told to depart. It would appear that de Heilly then offered to fight a personal duel with anyone in the English army who claimed he had escaped his custody in England against the laws of chivalry. Duels before a battle were not uncommon: it was a chance for a man-at-arms to win great prestige, fighting in front of a large crowd of soldiers. But on this occasion it was just another delaying tactic. The troops were anxious; by now it was probably past nine o’clock, and they had been standing still in their battle formations for the best part of three hours. So Henry tersely denied Jacques de Heilly his duel, and told him he could expect to be a prisoner of the English again later that same day.124
While these discussions were taking place the French were also growing restless. Some men received the honour of knighthood: it was said that five hundred French knights were dubbed before the battle. One of them was Philip, count of Nevers, who was knighted by Boucicaut.125 Eighteen men in the company of the seigneur de Croy swore an oath that, when the two sides came together, they would either knock the crown off Henry’s head or they would die trying.126
For Henry, the time wasting was a cause of concern. His men were eager to get the fight over and done with; they were starving. The author of the Gesta, sitting on a horse at the back of the army, thought the French were trying to defeat the English through hunger. Others in the ranks could not understand the reluctance of the French to do battle, considering they had so many men-at-arms. What were they doing? Perhaps this was where the rumour that the French were playing dice for the honour of imprisoning the great lords of England came from. Whatever the cause, the tension was threatening to break the discipline of the army. Henry therefore put the question to his council. What if the English were to do the unthinkable – and attack?
This strategy sounds entirely logical now but it was counter-intuitive to the English military mind of 1415. The textbook longbow victory was achieved by having archers on the flanks, in a defensive position – just as Henry had arranged them – and shooting at the charging enemy as they approached. That had been the secret of the first massed-longbow victory at Dupplin Moor in 1332, and Edward III had perfected the strategy at Halidon Hill in 1333 and Crécy in 1346. Henry was simply following a technique that had been tested over the last eighty years. But to attack with massed longbows was unusual. Henry would have known it could be done on a relatively small scale – he himself had probably used the tactic in Wales, and the late earl of Arundel had helped win the bridge at St-Cloud through an English longbow attack in 1411 – but it was a risky manoeuvre. For a start the English would have to abandon their defensive position and move forward, on foot, for a distance of seven or eight hundred yards – two-thirds of the distance between the two armies. They would have to remove the stakes and reposition them, while exposed to the risk of the French heavy cavalry. Shooting accurately and fast, and advancing quickly in formation, were incompatible.
The situation was best summed up by one English chronicler, in the following passage:
The king, considering that a great part of the short day was already past, and firmly believing that the French were not inclined to move from their position, consulted the most experienced officers of his army whether he should advance with his troops, in the order in which they stood, towards the enemy that was refusing to come towards him. Having fully considered the circumstances of such an important matter, they wisely decided that the king should march with his army towards the enemy, and attack them in the name of God. For they considered that the English army, very much wearied with hunger, illness and marching, was not likely to obtain any refreshment in the enemy’s country, and that the longer they remained there, the more they would suffer from weakness and exhaustion, whereas the enemy, being among friends, could easily obtain whatever they needed, and as a result of the delay, accumulated new and greater strength by the arrival of fresh troops. Therefore the king’s advisers finally concluded that further delay was damaging to the English but advantageous to the French. The king considered it would be difficult and dangerous to leav
e his position; yet to avoid greater dangers, with the greatest courage, he set his army an example of how they should march towards the enemy, preserving their current formation. He commanded that his own chaplains and all the priests of the army should start to pray, and that heralds should attend only to their own duties, and not take up arms.127
This account is convincing. Henry was frightened to leave his position but he did so anyway. We have noted that Henry was extremely cautious in his strategic moves to this point. He demonstrated a high degree of caution in his choice of landing place at Harfleur, he was very cautious in his attacks on the walls of that town, preferring to blast at them rather than risk sustained assaults. After leaving Harfleur he did not attack any other town and avoided confrontation wherever he could, at Blanchetaque and after leaving Péronne. So for him now to be reluctant to give up his defensive position was entirely in character and understandable. That he did so, and gave the order to advance banners, was a mark of outstanding courage. It proved to be the single most important decision of his life.
*
One struggles to imagine what went through the minds of the English archers when the word went around to advance. They – the few, hungry and fatigued – were going to advance against this seeming mass of French men-at-arms, their social and military superiors. In order for their bows to work effectively, they would certainly need to be within two hundred yards of the enemy, and preferably less than half that to shoot accurately. A charging mounted man-at-arms could cover a distance of one hundred yards in ten seconds; so the archers could be charged down before they came within effective killing range. The one advantage they had was that they could shoot rapidly. Crossbowmen in such a situation would have been helpless, because they could not shoot quickly enough; but archers could loose a dozen or more arrows a minute. Against a thousand charging knights on horseback, each weighing half a ton and travelling at six hundred yards per minute (twenty miles per hour), this was crucial, for only by bringing down enough horses, could they slow the charge. The question was: could the English archers get close enough to bring down enough horses?
When the order was given to prepare for the banners to advance, the English were terrified but ready. All the men-at-arms had dismounted, and were ready to run in their armour. Some of the archers were preparing to take their stakes with them; others just knew that they had to advance quickly, and decided to leave their stakes behind. Others were probably too scared to know what they should do.128 Many men were praying; many were bending down and putting a small piece of earth into their mouths, preparing for the moment of their death and the Last Judgment. Then, out in front of the massed army rode old Sir Thomas Erpingham with his complement of men-at-arms. At the back, seated on a horse was the author of the Gesta, with the other priests, all of them praying desperately, with their faces turned towards Heaven. ‘Remember us, O Lord, our enemies are gathered together and boast of their excellence. Destroy their strength and scatter them so that they may understand that there is none other that fights for us but You, our God … Have compassion upon us and upon the crown of England …’129
All eyes were fixed on Sir Thomas Erpingham. Those hidden in the woods on the flanks were watching him; the archers in each wing were watching him, and so too was the king. So were the men-at-arms in the main battle. And then, in full view of them all, he yelled out ‘Now Strike!’ and threw a white baton spinning high in the air, for all to see.
A huge shout went up across the English lines and men began moving forward. Everyone was running through the wet mud – archers, men-at-arms, knights and lords – even the king. Sir Thomas Erpingham and his men hurriedly dismounted and joined in the king’s battle, Sir Thomas running forward despite his advanced years. The archers were lightly armed, and were able to run much faster than the men-at-arms in the thick mud. But even they had a struggle; they had to get within range of the French front lines and start shooting arrows before the French cavalry charged into them, and broke their ranks. As they ran, they must have looked ahead and seen that the French had realised what was happening. Some Frenchmen were mounting their horses and beginning to move. Others were shouting to one another to take arms.
Henry’s decision to attack was a stroke of genius. The French were taken by surprise. Gilles le Bouvier noted that at the moment the French heard the English shout, ‘some had gone off to get warm, others to walk and feed their horses, not believing that the English would be so bold as to attack them’.130 Clignet de Brabant, who had been instructed to lead the Tramecourt-side wing in a charge to break up the archers, could only find 120 of the six hundred men he had for the purpose. He could not wait for them all, there was no time. He shouted to those who were ready and charged. The English trumpets sounded, and the archers stopped and loosed a first barrage of arrows at Clignet de Brabant and his cavalry, sending them one by one into the mud or making them crash into one another, leaving riderless horses to charge into the French vanguard, disrupting their advance. At the same time on the Agincourt side of the battlefield, only three hundred men could be found of the six hundred men to form the charge on that wing. They were met with a terrifying hail of arrows from the English and they too turned back, with the exception of Guillaume de Saveuses and two of his men, who charged on fearlessly to their deaths – when they came close enough for the arrows to penetrate their armour.131
A few minutes earlier the French commanders had been wholly confident of victory. Suddenly they had cause for grave concern as their sole means of breaking up the ranks of English archers had shattered on the hailstorm of arrows. The problem was the mud. It was so thick that the men-at-arms on the wings could not gallop. The lightly-armoured English archers were thus able to get close and send showers of steel-headed arrows at them while the French ponderously trudged through the churned-up sludge, slipping this way and that. The horses were terrified at the shouts and trumpets as well as their lack of footing in the quagmire of trodden ground. And it was even worse than they had imagined, for the untrodden land on to which they had charged was a newly ploughed field, with soft earth that had soaked up the rain and now gave way between the horses’ heavy hooves. The English archers were able to run forward again, and shoot for the weak points in the horses’ head and chest armour, and for their legs. If they got within thirty yards, close enough to puncture the steel armour, they could target the men-at-arms themselves, sending the riderless horses careering back terrified into the French vanguard.132
The French commanders could only look on with dismay and mounting consternation as the riders on the wings rode chaotically back into the vanguard. Even those who had not lost their horses, and who had clung on, had great difficulty controlling their steeds as they careered in panic away from the arrows. No horses could have been trained to face such an onslaught, and nor could their riders have expected their sudden inability to ride together in formation. There was only one option left open: to sound the trumpets commanding a full onslaught of all the troops, and to overwhelm the English through sheer force of numbers. To this end they followed what must have been a pre-arranged plan, dividing into three columns – one for each of the English battles. They charged together – men and steel spears aiming for the hearts of the English commanders, where the standards of the duke of York, the king and Lord Camoys were being held aloft.133
Few Englishmen can ever have seen a charge of eight thousand men-at-arms. None of the Englishmen at Agincourt that day had done. No one can have been confident that they would withstand such a colossal attack. But they all knew what they had to do. They were engaged in a fight for their lives. They had been facing death since leaving Harfleur, and it showed in their readiness to throw themselves into the fray. The French on the other hand had thought up until now that they were simply engaged in a quest for glory – it had not occurred to them that they might actually lose this battle. Their confidence had been rocked. And it was shaken even more as they charged, alarmed, and in confusion, for the two hundred Engli
sh archers hidden in the woods on the Tramecourt side of the battlefield opened their shoulders and let fly a barrage of arrows. Turning to face them, the French on the duke of York’s side were distracted; and the next thing they knew, the duke of York’s archers ahead were advancing towards them. Between them, the English archers were shooting about a thousand arrows every second, penetrating their armour, killing the horses beneath them, and making them rise up and fall over. Barrages of arrows were loosed, the coordinated flights of steel points a testimony to Henry’s determination to bring his own self-doubt and all the questioning of his legitimacy to a final, deadly resolution.
At the back of the English army, the priests had thrown themselves on the ground at the first sign of the French advance, begging that God in His Mercy might ‘spare them from this iron furnace and terrible death’. If they had looked up at that moment, they would have seen the strange fruit that grew from the seed of the massed archers’ arrows: huge piles of dead and dying men and horses, higher than the height of a man – more than two spears’ height. It had been remarked on at the first great longbow victory, at Dupplin Moor: the charging men could not retreat, so they had to scramble over the dying men and horses in front of them. But at a rate of a thousand arrows a second, no one could escape for long – and those climbing were also shot, making the barrier higher. Those at the bottom were held immobile and crushed. Some suffocated. The French could not find a way around the dead and dying, as the woods on either side held them to the same small patch of ground. Those in the third rank of one column of the French vanguard were so tightly packed they could not use their swords. And they could see their heroes being struck down and turning in flight. For those near them, it was deeply disturbing to see men like Guichard Dauphin and the count of Vendôme yelling at their men to retreat.134
1415: Henry V's Year of Glory Page 51
